


Beggars' Night

by EchoThruTheWoods



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:21:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8438326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoThruTheWoods/pseuds/EchoThruTheWoods
Summary: And now for something light and silly....Hellmasker discovers his favorite holiday. :D





	

It was a dark and stormy night.

Well, actually, it wasn’t particularly stormy, and it wasn’t that dark. It was twilight, that dusky grey hour that poets celebrated for reasons Vincent could never fathom. Trudging home from three days of monster hunting in Kalm, he just wanted to see where he was going. Instead, he seemed to be constantly tripping over small children. Where the hell were they all coming from, and why were they running around and shrieking on every street in Edge?

He stopped half a block from home, squinting in the darkness. His enhanced sight was Galian’s attribute, and Galian was sound asleep at the back of his mind. A group of kids had gathered in front of his and Veld’s house, and wait a minute were they--?

They were. They were flinging toilet paper here, there and yonder, covering the bushes, the fence, the porch rail and everything else they could reach.

That did it. Exhausted, covered in gore and other, even less savory bodily fluids, he fell on them like the proverbial bat out of hell, wings and all. Chaos might have returned to the planet, but he’d left Vincent access to an avatar worthy of nightmares. The rugrats scattered, screaming bloody murder, trailing tissue banners behind them. He sent a couple of fire-bolts after them for good measure. The spell was too weak to cause any real harm, but the stink of brimstone and the puffs of black smoke made his point more clearly than words.

He collapsed on the sidewalk in a heap of crimson cloth and sticky black leather. Gods damn it, couldn’t a man have peace and quiet and a hot shower for fuck’s sake…Wait. What was that? And that? The brats had dropped a few things as they ran for their sorry lives.

He scooped up a brightly colored plastic bag, and found it filled with treasure.

Wrapped candy in all shapes and sizes, from caramels to bon-bons to sourballs and more, sparkling in the light of the street lamp. In the depths of his mind, something --  _ someone  _ \-- stirred. Too tired to fight, he let it ascend.

“Caaaandy,” his headmate trilled, a full octave higher than Vincent’s usual voice. A toothy smile spread across his face. There was another bag! And another!

“Candy, candy, three bags full!” He clutched them close and bounded up the porch steps.  _ Key, key, where’s the key, it must be, must be, must be---Here! _ He let himself into the house and banged the door shut.

\-----

Veld got home just after ten o’clock, thankful that most of the kids were finally off the street. He wasn’t happy with the shreds of paper hanging off the bushes out front, but hell with it, he’d deal with it tomorrow morning, after--He stopped dead at the sight that met him in the living room.

“What in Gaia’s name…?”

Vincent glanced up from his seat on the floor. Legs crossed, mouth full, he gave Veld a sticky smile. “Hullo Bronze.”

Oh, shit. “Hello yourself,” said Veld, shutting the door. Which one was this? Oh, right...

“Mask?”

Vincent swallowed and popped another caramel into his mouth. “Yeshf. Want some?” He dug into the bag on his lap and tossed a handful of candy at Veld, who caught a few pieces by reflex. Circus peanuts.  _ Yuck. _

Vincent/Mask grinned at him, licking his lips. How he managed to make that look suggestive with his tongue dyed a garish pink from artificial coloring was beyond Veld’s comprehension. “Pretty Bronze, the treats are sweet tonight. Come sit with me!” He shuffled the pile of cellophane wrappers, clearing a space for Veld.

“I don’t think so.”

Mask  pouted. “You are no fun,” he stated, enunciating each syllable with the care of the highly inebriated.

“So I’ve been told.” He looked more closely at the creature before him. “For gods’ sake, Valentine, you’re all over monster crud! You’ve got candy wrappers stuck in your hair. What are you, five years old?”

Mask bared his teeth, which were longer and pointier than Vincent’s were wont to be. “You can’t talk to me that way.” He scrambled up, candy forgotten, grabbing Veld by the shoulders. “I am older than you, older than old! Older than all!”

Shoving Veld up against the wall, he pressed close, hissing, brass talons pricking the skin of Veld’s throat. “Scars are red, bruises are blue…blood is sweet, and yours will do.” He snapped at Veld, more Galian than Mask, and Veld slapped his prosthetic hand smack up against Mask’s mouth.

“Back  _ off _ , you little bastard.”

Mask lunged. Veld ducked and slammed an elbow into his gut. Mask dropped at his feet, groaning.

“Enough?” said Veld, ready for more.

“Veld?” Vincent curled up, hands pressed to his stomach. “I don’t feel well…”

“Vince?”

“Uh-huh. Oh.  _ Urgh _ . I--I think--”

Veld recognized the green hue of Vincent‘s face. He grabbed a wastebasket from the corner and shoved it into his partner’s hands. The next several minutes involved a great deal of retching, cursing and moaning. Veld sat next to Vincent, holding his hair back while Vincent emptied his stomach of the last few hours’ worth of ill-gotten gains.

At last, flat on the floor with a wet cloth over his eyes and a bunch of paper towels held to his mouth, Vincent gave a long, whimpering sigh.

“I’m sorry, Veld. He got away from me.”

“ ‘S’okay,” said Veld, patting his leg. “It’s no worse than a six-hour drinking binge from our Turk days.”

“Yes, it is. I swear my tonsils are crystallized, and it’s not materia -  _ urp  _ \- it’s sugar. If you put me in the bath I’d dissolve.”

“Valentine, you know I’m rather fond of you, but trust me, you aren’t that sweet.”

Vincent managed a weary chuckle. “I think I do want that bath, though. You’ll have to help me peel the leathers off.”

“That, I can do.” Veld rose, helping Vincent up, and walked away to start the tub running. “Just promise me you won’t ever do that again.”

“I promise, Bronze.”

Veld looked back over his shoulder. “What did you say?”

Vincent smiled. “Nothing.”


End file.
